


After the Order

by HungryYoda



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 22:36:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7910233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HungryYoda/pseuds/HungryYoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of the fifth season of the Clone Wars, Ahsoka Tano must forge her own path outside the Jedi Order. This is her journey through the years up to A New Hope. Diverges from canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Moving Out  
**

The walk from the Temple to the Order-owned apartment Ahsoka shared with her master had never seemed so long. There had always been something interesting to do or discuss, whether it was an upcoming campaign or a new Force technique. This time, however, there was nothing. Ahsoka had no obligations to fulfill, no things to learn. She just had to get her things and go … somewhere. Without a goal in mind, the brief trip became one long moment of anxiety about the future. While she was resolved to leave the order, she had no idea what to do with her life outside it.

_Just put one foot ahead of the other,_ Ahsoka  told herself. _Keep going._

When she arrived, she took a long sanisteam, washing away the sweat and anxiety of jail, then dressed in more traditional Jedi robes instead of her usual style. Now, more than ever, Ahsoka felt the need to be sure that she was a Jedi, a servant of the light.

Packing took less time than she expected. Jedi don't have much in the way of knick-knacks; all her clothes fit into a single duffel. Ahsoka spent more time filling her personal datapad with texts on the Jedi arts, knowing that this would probably be the last time she had access to the Temple's database. The ways of the Force took up a surprisingly small amount of space on her datatpad; text and holograms weren't that big. She might be leaving the Jedi Order, but she wasn't going to stop being a Jedi. Of that, she was certain.

Assembling her little library, Ahsoka was surprised by her composure. Upon reflection, it did make sense, at least on the surface. She had resigned herself to a far worse fate in Republic jail awaiting trial. At least, she thought life in prison was a worse fate. Free, she had a purpose, at least in theory: the common good, just like if she had stayed in the Order. She would just have to do it without the help of her master, or her troops, or her any of her fellow Jedi, or Republic money, or equipment, or anything like that. There would be no more resources to call upon or friends to watch her back. Just Ahsoka Tano and her lightsabers. Which she had yet to rebuild.

Ahsoka swore, a long, luxuriating string of Huttese and Mandalorian curses that Rex had rather explicitly forbade Torrent Company from using around her. Then the tears came.

Fifteen sad, uncomfortable minutes of crisis of purpose later, she looked up from her seat and began to breathe more steadily. The galaxy had not stopped, so neither would she. Ahsoka sat a little straighter, and began to meditate, falling back on the Code for a mantra.

“There is no emotion, there is peace.” Easier said than done, but it was something to shoot for.

“There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.” She would still be able to carry on with her studies, temple or no.

“There is no passion, there is serenity.” Tears never helped anyone. She just had to keep going, casting aside both regret and resentment.

“There is no chaos, there is harmony.” Moving away from the front lines of a war would probably help with that one.

There is no death, there is the Force.” These troubles would pass. This was going to be a new chapter in her life, not the end.

There was still work to do.

She'd need a new holomail account when her Jedi one was canceled. She set up a little account with a well-known webservice, and sent a few brief messages with her new address to those she wanted to stay in touch with.

A formal explanation of her decision and offer of services went to what few political contacts she had managed to make in her time, ranging from Naboo to Onderon. A short, friendly explanation of her decision went to a handful of old friends from the Order, mostly fellow apprentices. A longer apology went to the whole 501st, who she would no longer be able to protect. Captain Rex and Commander Appo got personalized messages with polite reminders and advice about those duties they would have to take over – someone would have to remind their General to take his hand in for maintenance. Anakin got the longest letter, an extended apology praising his work as her master and reassuring him that his secret was safe with her.

Ahsoka only made one request: that none of the recipients of her letters give her new address to anyone on the High Council other than Masters Kenobi or Plo Koon. While she doubted that this would hold up under more than a firm look from Master Windu, maybe they would take the hint.

Ahsoka stood, ready to leave her room for the last time, but something stopped her. Listening to the Force, she found herself drawn to her bedside table. She opened the little drawer, revealing a sleek, black lightsaber hilt.

Ahsoka remembered that saber. It had belonged to a close friend of hers, a demure young Twi'lek by the name of Sianya Ven who had wanted to be a Jedi Consular. Sianya was a peaceful sort, a kind, supportive young student, excelling in diplomacy and the arts but hopeless in combat, unlike Ahsoka, whose ability to get herself into fights was only surpassed by her ability to handle herself in them. The two of them had helped each other in their studies since early childhood.

When the time had come for their Initiate class to construct lightsabers of their own, Sianya had chosen to make a synth-crystal instead of going to Ilium. When Ahsoka had asked her why, Sianya had reminded her of the process used to grow synth-crystals.

“When you make a synth-crystal, you imbue it with the Force. The thoughts, feelings, convictions that were in your mind when you made it become a part of the crystal. Whenever I draw my blade, I should remember who I am, and who I want to be. It'll be an anchor, one more reminder to use as little force as possible.”

Ahsoka nodded, then asked, “Okay, but why blue? Why not a traditional Consular green?”

“Green? With my complexion?” Sianya gestured at a brilliant scarlet lek, “They'd call me the Life Day Jedi.”

They had laughed at that, and when Ahsoka returned home with a green crystal.

They saw each other less and less after they were assigned Masters. Ahsoka always had some new campaign to command, and Sianya always had some pressing negotiations to oversee. Though they wrote each other often and made time for holoconfrences when they both had a chance, they struggled to keep track of each other's lives.

One day, the five-oh-first was sent to rescue a group of Republic diplomats whose mission had turned sour with the arrival of a Separatist fleet. It had seemed a routine job: Go in, get the diplomats, and get out of whatever uninhabited backwater had been chosen for the negotiations – just another day in the GAR. Ahsoka had been almost happy to find out that they were rescuing Sianya and her master.

She didn't have any reason not to be. Over the past few years, she'd done nearly a dozen such missions and not failed once; Separatist tactical droids were so predictable when it came to capturing and holding delegations like this.

The mission was planned no different from the last few (wildly successful) extractions they'd done in the past. Ahsoka was to sneak in with a squad of ARC troopers from Torrent to reinforce the defenses of the diplomats while Anakin descended on the Separatist task force in his usual angry-rancor fashion with the rest of the Legion.

Ahsoka knew something was wrong the moment she and her squad hit dirt. There were commando droids all over the grounds of the old castle where the negotiations were being held, stationed in places no tactical droid would think of putting them. The Separatists shouldn't even have had time to establish a perimeter, yet they were already beginning to fortify.

Ahsoka stretched out through the Force, trying to get a feel for the situation of the diplomats inside. She sensed the simmering calm of Jedi in combat alongside fear and desperation from the other delegates. There was another presence, one deaf to the Force but full of rage and malice: Grievous.

Then everything went wrong. Ahsoka rushed inside as fast as she could, leaving her troops in the dust as she made mincemeat of the Separatist defenses. Still, as the last commando droid fell, she felt a tremor in the Force and an ache in her heart. Sianya Ven was dead.

In that moment, Ahsoka knew rage. It was the first time she had touched the Dark Side, yet it flowed so easily. She used it in the place of the calm that wouldn't come, and she made it to the cyborg general. Her strength didn't last long enough. Tired and unbalanced, she was no match for Dooku's attack dog, who had already bested Sianya's master. Their duel was brief. In moments, Grievous had her cornered, one of his stolen lightsabers at her throat, cackling maniacally.

Skywalker had saved her, like he always did. His sword came down on Grievous's wrist like lightening from heaven, and their enemy fled the Guardian and his Legion. Ahsoka slumped to the ground, catching her breath, and she recognized the blade that had nearly killed her. It was Sianya's.

Ahsoka picked it up and sensed the traces of her friend in the crystal. Sianya was there, strong and idealistic. The good that she had done in the past was still in the world, just as her omnipresent calm was imprinted in the crystal in Ahsoka's hand. Ahsoka hefted the hilt, ignited the blade alongside her own, and found peace.

The next day, she had asked Anakin to teach her Jar'Kai. They had gone crystal-hunting on Ilium the very next week, bringing back a few crystals, one of which became the shoto she had lost a few days ago.

Now, Ahsoka took her old friend's saber with her as she left. She grabbed her toolkit and the spare parts she'd need for a second saber along with a matching crystal from the workshop she shared with her master. Well, the workshop she had shared with her former master. This was going to take some getting used to.

 


	2. Apartment Hunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahsoka finds a place to stay and an unlikely friend.

The door to the apartment Ahsoka had shared with her master slid shut with a quiet whoosh, a testament to Anakin's careful maintenance. Looking at the worn durasteel, Ahsoka was stuck with the thought that she was probably going to have to oil her own doors now. Heck, she'd need her own apartment. One more thing to worry about. Yippee.

Ahsoka left the building as a toolbox and a bulging duffel barely supported by a swirl of dark brown robe and wandered off into the city. She walked for a while, not really looking for anything in particular, just wanting to get out of the Jedi-heavy part of town. About fifteen minutes after she succeeded in that endeavor, while passing through a mid-class shopping district, she sensed a presence following her and ducked into a tapcafe, one of the big but comfortable chains.

Standing in line, Ahsoka closed her eyes and stretched out through the Force. She sensed a familiar, tired mind, one strong in the Force, tinged with both light and dark, neither hostile nor friendly - Ventress. Ahsoka shrugged; Ventress had a right to talk to her, considering all that the woman had done for her while she was on the run.

Still, that didn't mean Ahsoka ought to be too trusting. She set down her bags and rooted about in the top of her toolbox, retrieving the parts she had intended to customize later to her exact specifications to make her second blade. They were rough, unpolished, and didn't quite spring into the hand the way she wanted them to, but they were all there: casing, power insulator, Diatium cell, crystal, lenses, controls, emitter matrix. Ahsoka lifted them into the air with the Force, carefully aligning the crystal and sliding the components into place under the folds of her cloak, then, forgetting her surroundings, thumbed the activator, just to test it. A brilliant cobalt blade sprang into existence with a proper-sounding snap-hiss. The tapcafe's other patrons gasped and shied away, hoping to avoid whatever had elicited such aggression from a Jedi.

“Well, aren't we jumpy.” Ventress's voice sounded from right behind her, and Ahsoka jumped a foot into the air and turned, reaching for her other blade before seeing Ventress standing behind her, hands on her hips, her face more inquisitive than angry. She sheepishly clipped both blades back onto her belt and attempted to regain her composure, along with the rest of the cafe's clientèle, who didn't know what to make of the situation.

“A girl can't be too careful.” Ahsoka said.

Ventress pursed her lips in an expression slightly less angry than her usual sneer. “Shouldn't you be out celebrating with your little Jedi friends?”

“No.”

“No? Weren't you cleared of all charges? The lost little Padawan, welcomed home with open arms?”

“Padawan? If I had asked, the council would have given me a knighthood.” Ahsoka shook her head bitterly at the memory of Master Windu's last words to her. _Perhaps this was your great trial._ Bah!

“You've yet to answer my question.” The sneer was returning.

“I did not choose to return to the Jedi Order.” They were nearing the front of the line. It would seem that heated conversations between lighsaber-wielding teenagers and women with the hardened look of bounty hunters shortened queues rather considerably. There were markedly fewer tired office workers in the room than there had been a minute ago.

Ventress gave  Ahsoka a long, searching look, and Ahsoka noticed the faint touch of her mind through the Force. “Perhaps I ought to buy you a  cup of caf , brat.”

“Thanks, harpy.”

A few minutes later, they sat down in a secluded alcove on the upper  level of the tapcafe, hot drinks in hand.

“Why leave the Order?” Ventress asked, settling into a squishy red armchair across from Ahsoka, and set her drink down on the table between them.

Ahsoka considered her answer for a moment, then replied, “Because the Jedi Order is no longer what it once was. It isn't what it ought to be.”

“Explain.”

“When it looked like I was the one who bombed the Temple, Chancellor Palpatine asked the Council to expel me from the Order so I could be tried as a civilian. He said that it would keep them from being perceived as corrupt.

“There was no debate. They threw me out the next day in a show trial, ignoring the Force as it told them I was innocent. They gave it five kriffing minutes!”

Ventress nodded. “Typical Jedi treachery.”

“The point I'm trying to make is that that was very _un-Jedi-like_ behavior, and you know it.” Ahsoka glared at the woman on the other side of the low table.

“Anyway, when I was cleared, they complimented on my perseverance and all that, but they didn't admit they had ignored the will of the Force, and they sure as hell didn't apologize. It was as if they were blind to the fact that they had even made a mistake!” Ahsoka's hands were shaking, and a part of her was glad she had already set her caf down.

“How could I go back to that? A Jedi Order that ignores the Force - that doesn't even make sense. I had to go. I need to find my own path.”

“A task easier said than done. Sounds like you could use a hand.” Ventress's tone was cold, but when Ahsoka looked into her eyes, she sensed genuine empathy emanating from the tall Dathomiran.

“Why should you care?”

“I wasn't always a Sith. Or a Nightsister.” Ventress did not elaborate, and Ahsoka knew better than to press the matter.

After a long moment, Ventress spoke again, “You can stay at my place for a little while, while you look for a job or whatever you think your path is. Better that than the alternative.” The former assassin drank a final swallow of her caf, then stood to face the exit. Ahsoka reached out through the Force, trying to sense Ventress's motives. Sensing her touch, the older woman opened her mind, displaying a psyche filled with sadness and regret. Echoes of rage whispered in the shadows, relics of her time spent with the Sith, but they were drowned out by an odd sort of protectiveness and empathy. Satisfied, Ahsoka rose to follow and moved to gather her things, then stopped.

“Wait,” she said.

Ventress turned around. Ahsoka removed the lightsaber she had made a few minutes ago from her belt and offered it to Ventress. “I see you're missing your blades,” she continued. “This is a rushed build, but it's better than nothing until you can make new ones.”

Ventress regarded the hilt for a moment, then took it with a rough “Thanks.”

As they left the tapcafe, Ventress turned to Ahsoka and said, “You'll need a new service chip for that Jedi comlink of yours. Do you have any money?”

“A little, savings from my Order stipend. I was planning to save it for food,” Ahsoka replied.

“It's damn hard to get a job without the Holonet; you should spend it on that. Trust me.” Ahsoka took her by her word, and they stopped at a networking store on the way and bought a service chip in a stilted, but uneventful exchange.

Ventress's flat, as it turned out, was much larger and more comfortable than Ahsoka had expected, especially for the neighborhood it occupied. With two bedrooms, a full refresher, and a kitchen that flowed into a larger living area and then a small workshop beyond that, it had more than enough room for the two of them. When she said so, Ventress simply said, “It turns out that bounty hunting pays better than war crimes.”

“Great.” Suddenly, that tan synthsuede couch seemed a lot less inviting. Still, she couldn't afford to be picky.

“Don't give me that innocent look, Tano. You're no saint yourself. I heard about your work on Onderon.” For a moment, Ventress almost looked like she cared what Ahsoka thought of her. “Besides, I do plenty of good in the community.”

Ahsoka raised a brow marking. “Really.”

“It's the truth. Do you hear that thumping coming from the hall closet? That, little Jedi, is a local drug lord that CSF has been trying to nab for years. For a reasonable fee, I'm bringing in him and his financial records.” Ventress gestured at the now silent closet door and a pile of holobooks on the living room table.

“I guess I can respect that,” Ahsoka admitted.

Ventress grunted and pointed at another closed door. “You can use that room. Go and unpack.”


	3. Manufacturing

Ahsoka's unpacking was peacefully surreal for the first few minutes, as she processed the fact that she was now the de facto roommate of a former Sith Acolyte, at least for the moment. After that, it was interrupted by a chorus of piercing beeps coming from the next room. Ahsoka stuck her head out to see a joyful-looking Ventress practically flouncing towards a bulbous steel machine about two-thirds of a meter in diameter, the source of the noise.

“My synth-crystals are done curing.” she growled in response to Ahsoka's inquiring expression, nonetheless looking far happier than Ahsoka thought any ex-Separatist war criminal had any right to look, and removed a small tray of semitransparent silvery crystals from the machine. Ahsoka was struck by her similarity to Master Kenobi taking cookies out of an oven and laughed. When she explained why, the ghost of a smile flickered across Ventress's face.

“I suppose that there are worse Jedi to be compared to than Kenobi.” Ventress said.

Ahsoka nodded. “You know, he was the only one on the Council who even tried to stand up for me.”

“That sounds like him. Honorable old fool.” Ventress crossed to the other side of the room and began to fiddle with some lightsaber casings, then paused. She unclipped the lightsaber Ahsoka had lent her from her belt and threw it to her.

“Thanks for the loan,” she said, then turned back to her work.

Ahsoka regarded the hilt for a moment, taking in all the little errors that she had made in its rushed construction, then turned back into her room. She retrieved her toolbox, then went to join Ventress in her workshop, where she pulled up a wobbly old stool and sat across from Ventress at the room's solitary table, a worn little durasteel-topped number that was pitted and stained with the residue of a thousand projects.

When Ventress noticed her guest, she looked up and said, “I'm sure I don't have to tell you what will happen if you screw with my tools.”

“I'm offended that you would even feel the need to say such a thing,” Ahsoka replied in an exaggerated tone before returning her attention to her work. She laid her two lightsabers on the table, one old and one new.

Sianya's old blade was a beautiful thing to behold; Ahsoka's friend had crafted her hilt in the style of the steel swords the Jedi had used millennia ago, with a narrow, ovoid profile that had the faintest curve to it. Powder-coated in black with rhomboid gaps where the original brushed durasteel shone through, the casing evoked the patterns of the tsuka of generations past. The coating ended at the emitter shroud, where there was a small, rounded ridge with a simple geometric engraving, artfully imitating a tsuba without being so large as to bruise the leg it rested against. A matching set was out of the question; Ahsoka had neither the equipment nor the skills needed to copy Sianya's design.

A new design was in order, then. Ahsoka examined the hurried blade she had built yesterday. It was a simple cylinder, roughly manufactured out of several sections of durasteel piping. Sharp edges lurked at the ends and at the edges of the holes through which which the controls protruded. Ahsoka absently took a small file out of her toolbox and began to deburr the pieces, contemplating the end design.

She could just polish it to a matte finish, throw some paint on it, and call it a day, but that felt wrong. She was going to rediscover herself with this lightsaber in hand; she couldn't half-ass it. Ahsoka turned a section of the casing over in her hand, pondering the end design, producing and rejecting ideas. A backspike pommel seemed barbaric, while a synthleather grip would feel pretentious. Eventually, she decided to just replicate the design of her original lightsaber with the two-layered casing, painting the outer sections black while leaving bare metal on the inner layer to match the color scheme laid out by Sianya.

Satisfied with her new design, Ahsoka roughly polished the already-finished inner section of the casing with steel wool, then reassembled the saber to make sure it fit together properly. The pieces slid together just the way she wanted them to, though the end result was just a little too thin and light and the controls protruded a little too far. She smiled; the secondary shroud would look just the way she wanted it to. Ahsoka looked up and around the room, her eyes alighting on a compact laser mill.

“Ventress? Would you mind if I used that?” she asked, pointing at the the laser mill.

Ventress glanced up from her work, then shrugged. “If you break it, you'd better buy me a better one.”

“Uh-huh.” Ahsoka stood and clipped the lightsabers to her belt. “I'm going parts shopping.”

“Don't get yourself killed. I've been needing someone to split the rent.”

Ahsoka grunted in assent and returned to her room for her datapad and comlink. After a quick search, she chose a hardware store in the area and planned her route. She strode to the front door, snagged her robe from the hook on the wall, and stepped out into the chaos of the ecumenopolis.

Five minutes later, she was sitting in a hovertrain headed toward her destination. The dingy train was mostly empty at this point in the afternoon, and what few other travelers there were spread out along the length of the car, fiddling with datapads and reading holobooks. Ahsoka followed suit, pulling out her comlink and starting to read a text on military strategy Anakin had recommended to her a few weeks ago, keenly aware of the fact that she would probably have no occasion to use the information in it.

A minute passed, and Ahsoka began to feel flickers of unease from the the other passengers. It didn't seem to have any source she could identify, they were all just afraid of _something_. Another minute passed before she realized that they were afraid of her. She couldn't tell if they had seen her on the news or had just seen her lightsabers. Either way, it stung. Law-abiding citizens of the Republic were afraid of her, a Jedi. She had been wise to leave when she did.

Ahsoka put up her hood before she left the train, and arrived at the hardware store without further incident.

She purchased  a few short lengths of pipe from  a droid, then asked about color options. “You wouldn't happen to have a kiln for power-coating here, would you?  I'd like to have a nice  black finish  on a medium-sized durasteel part. ”

The robot shook its head. “I'm afraid not, honored customer. The best we can do is a black-oxidizing kit or speeder paint.” Its cheap speakers made its polite words ring a little hollow.

Ahsoka shrugged. “I'll take the paint, then.” She had never liked cold black-oxide finishes. They were too inconstant. At least paint could be touched up, and she could come up with a more permanent solution later.

The next few hours of manufacturing went rather quickly. Ahsoka used Ventress's laser mill to cut the part to shape, regretted not using a conventional mill the moment she saw the shape of the melted edges, and spent some time alternating between calming meditation and filing. She polished it with emery paper and abrasive pastes that Ventress wordlessly handed to her as she finished parts of her own. Both women lost themselves in their work, ending up with parts that shone brighter then they had intended. When she finished, Ahsoka sprayed on a thick coat of semitransparent black paint. It wasn't quite what she had wanted, but it would do for now.


	4. Exercise

Paint drying on her fresh blade, Ahsoka sat back and wondered what she ought to do. She had felt better the past few hours, while she was actually doing productive things, but now, without concerns of shelter and defense, the doubts that had assailed her in her master's apartments swept over once again. What work was there for a Jedi without an Order? She wasn't worried about her abilities to find a job per se, but she wanted her work to mean something. Protecting the people of the Republic was a simple enough goal, but she was unsure how to go about it on her own. Her thoughts spiraled around this one question endlessly without really going anywhere.

Ventress sensed her distress, and looked up from her work with a guarded expression. Even when they had fought each other back when she was with the Separatists, Ahsoka had never seemed so anxious. Asajj had seen something of herself, or at least who she had been, in the little Jedi. She, too, had had that idealistic fire, back when she was a Padawan. In that moment, she decided to keep Ahsoka away from all the things that had led her so far astray. She gave a tiny mental push, and the endcap of her second new lightsaber screwed itself into place, finding the end of the threading with a tiny clink. 

“Tano, is that toy of yours done?”

Ahsoka risked a touch on her new hilt casing and found the paint dry. Either it used some new solvent, or she had been sitting there for longer than she had thought. “Yeah, why?” she replied, slotting the part into place.

The former Sith hefted her new hilt, and Ahsoka noticed that the black sections of Ventress's old design had been replaced with bronze inlay. “I'd like to test mine, and I haven't had a decent spar in ages. Interested?”

Although Ahsoka was relieved by the prospect of something to do, her response was tired, almost apathetic. “Yeah, sure.” 

“There's a park not too far from here. Get your gear.”

Thirty minutes later, they stood in one of Coruscant's famous park towers, the massive public buildings maintained the governments of more affluent sections of the city where Coruscanti came to enjoy the natural world that did not exist on the city-planet. This floor was designed to feel like an ancient, open forest, with huge trees interspersed by broad clearings of short grass. Artificial sunlight filtered down from the ceiling, and a pleasant breeze of purified air swept through the massive room. During the day, it would be filled with happy families and squealing children, but at this point in the early evening it was comparatively quiet. 

Ventress set down her bag and habitually swung into a series of basic stretches, loosening muscles cramped from a day of inactivity. Ahsoka instead sat at the base of the tree, closed her eyes, and started her usual pre-practice meditation. Standing on one leg, forcibly folding the other back in an attempt to remind her sleepy quadriceps who was boss, Ventress wondered when the last time she had properly cleared her mind before lightsaber drills was. Had it been with her first master? She didn't know anymore.

Ventress put her foot down, walked over to Ahsoka, and sat next to her. Through the Force, the park was a calm place, filled with the echoes of children's laughter and the quiet pride of the gardeners who maintained it. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Ventress let herself relax. The Force flowed smoothly, peacefully through her, and when they finally stood she felt calmer than she had for a very long time.

They stretched for real and ran around the glade a few times before reconfiguring their lightsabers' magnetic containment fields for practice. This way, a strike would leave a bruise and a first-degree burn instead of a charred void. Back at the temple, everyone had dedicated practice blades, but such luxuries were uncommon in the field. Making the necessary adjustments, Ahsoka wondered when the next time she had a dedicated practice saber would be. She ignited her twin blades, observed their newly dimmed blades, and took a cautious poke at the grass she stood on. The little green leaves withered and smoked after a moment, but the surrounding soil didn't instantly melt. Safe.

“Shall we start with a Jar'Kai kata?” she asked.

Ventress nodded, seemingly relaxed by the return to more recently familiar training. “Did you have one in mind?”

“I was thinking Sakura no Kashi,” said Ahsoka, naming an old kata dating from the early days of the art known for its beauty and difficulty. Ventress smiled. The kid wanted to make a good impression. 

“Certainly.” Now lightsaber skills were under discussion, Ventress's voice had a little of her old sneer to it. It was almost a challenge, but not an unfriendly one.

They stood a few meters apart, drew their lightsabers, and slid into the first pose of the ancient dance. Their swords rose and fell, twirling through the shapes of the ancient flowering forests of Kashi, painting smooth purple afterimages on the retinas of their inevitable onlookers. Although the motions flowed together so smoothly and gracefully that their art seemed to be merely decorative, an observer learned in the ways of the Force would have noticed that every outward motion carried deadly force, while every inward stroke was braced firmly enough to hold back a hurricane. Through this careful practice, Jedi and Sith alike ingrained life-saving strikes and blocks into their muscle memory.

Of course, no such observer was present, so the growing knot of passerby was quite shocked when the two women finished their dance, bowed to each other, exchanging a few words rendered inaudible by distance, and sprung into combat with a speed and ferocity seldom seen off the battlefield, much less in an affluent section of Coruscant. 

In reality, neither of them was really fighting at their full potential. Ahsoka's uncertainty, buried as it was beneath the routines of construction and combat, bled through into her use of the Force, and her opponent was rebuilding her style to remove the use of the Dark Side that had so long clouded her vision. Also, Ventress didn't really want to immediately crush the younger woman. Teenager, really, when she looked at the lines of Ahsoka's face. 

Still, that didn't mean she wasn't going to teach the kid something useful. Ventress gradually ratcheted up the difficulty of the duel, slowly putting Ahsoka on the defensive, eventually backing her up towards a massive tree. Making a final desperate bid for victory, Ahsoka turned and ran up the tree, before jumping back over Ventress's head and striking downwards with a blow that would have sliced a lesser opponent's head and upper torso in two. Ventress's carefully angled parry and a wee telekinetic yank wrenched the blades from Ahsoka's grasp, and a quick sweep knocked Ahsoka's legs from under her before they had properly touched ground, sending Ahsoka sprawling to the ground with one of Ventress's new silver blades in her face.

“All too easy.” Yes, the sneer was definitely back. Ahsoka scowled and stood, summoning her sabers back to her hands and igniting them.

“Let's see if you can do it twice.”

They dueled four more times, and found that Ventress could, in fact, do it thrice.

As they walked back towards home, Ventress turned to Ahsoka and said, “That wasn't too bad, Tano. Certainly better than I expected from Skywalker's old pet.”

Sensing the goodwill behind the rough words, Ahsoka paused, pursing her lips, then changed the subject. “You know, if we're going to be roommates, you should really call me by my first name.”

Ventress was silent for another moment, then just said, “Alright, Ahsoka.”

That night, they went back to their respective rooms and slept restfully, if not soundly. It was a welcome change for both of them.


	5. Caffeine and Correspondence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahsoka gets to know her new roommate a little better, and catches up on her email.

**Caffeine and Correspondence**

The next morning, Ahsoka awoke to clean, white light pressing on her eyelids and rustling noises outside her room. When she reached out through the Force to ask her master to keep it down so she could sleep, she was struck by a great sense of distance. He wasn't in the next room, where he had been for the past two years, watching her back. He was on the other side of the planet, his presence in the Force tinged with fatigue and that particular brand of barely-suppressed rage he saved for bureaucrats and politicians who were not Padmé Amidala or the chancellor.

Oh, right. 

Ahsoka wasn't at her mentor's side anymore. She wasn't with the order anymore. She was forging a different path.

Perhaps she shouldn't be sleeping in today.

With a groan, Ahsoka sat up, reached for her chrono, and found that it was about seven and she really couldn't justify staying in bed any longer. It was a depressing revelation, but she rallied and actually succeeded in throwing back the covers and standing up. Keeping her priorities in line, she made a beeline for the apartment's small kitchen and the life-giving caf it hopefully contained.

Her roommate, dressed in rumpled sweatpants and a shirt that looked like it had gotten on a nexu's bad side, turned to acknowledge her.

“Mornin', Ahsoka.”

“Mornin', Asajj. Got any caf?”

“Just drip,” Asajj replied, and motioned with her own mug towards a hissing machine that seemed to crouch in the shadows beneath the cupboards. Ahsoka approached it with the reverence of a true caffeine addict.

“Mugs?” she asked.

“There.” Asajj pointed at a cupboard above the machine.

“Thanks.”

Asajj turned to watch Ahsoka pour her caf, then asked, “Aren't you a little young for caf every morning?”

Ahsoka set down her mug and shrugged. “War changes a girl. Aren't you a little young to be asking?”

Ventress gave a half-smile. “I don't know; I'm old enough to take that as a compliment.”

Ahsoka chuckled at that, and they lapsed into a brief silence, staring over the counter at the small living

space and the little workshop beyond.

Ahsoka spoke first. “It's weird, isn't it? Me being here?” 

“Very,” Asajj agreed.

The silence was more awkward this time. Eventually, Asajj asked, “What are you planning on doing today?”

Ahsoka leapt awkwardly at the chance for normal conversation. “I need a job to pay for things. Like food.”

Asajj nodded as though this wasn't obvious, then said, “And, knowing your skills, health insurance.”

“Hey!”

Undaunted, Ventress continued, making an effort to seem affable, “Now you mention it, when I turned in yesterday's drug lord, the police actually offered me a part-time job. Said they needed a Force-user on hand for special jobs. I can't really afford to show my face just yet, so I turned them down, but I bet they'd snap you up.” Her friendly tone slipped a little towards the end, implying Ahsoka wouldn't be hired so much as devoured, but she was clearly trying.

Ahsoka looked contemplative. “I could do that. Thanks.” She set down her coffee and headed back to her room for her datapad. “I guess I'll need a resume.”

A little while later, she had one. It was short enough to make her nervous, but she assured herself that quality would make up for quantity. Rare was the sixteen-year-old who could cite management experience with thousands of subordinates.

While she was on her datapad, Ahsoka checked her new holomail account. There were a few dozen messages; aside from her other contacts, every battalion of the Five Hundred and First had written her a farewell letter, along with individual messages from Appo and Rex. They each had their own little quirks (the ninth battalion's letter, for example, masked their worries about the idea of Commander Tano-less campaigns with a series of terrible puns), but they all had the same core message of thanks for her work over the past two years, respect for her, if not her decision (the poor dears had trouble with the whole personal independence thing on a conceptual level), and wishing her well in the future. How much she'd left behind in terms of people was beginning to sink in. Working with the Five-oh-First had been like having nine thousand helpful little brothers. Ahsoka would miss them.

Then there were the letters from her old friends in the Order. These were more mixed. While none were so crass as to suggest that she was wrong to move in a new direction, many expressed shock at the idea of completely abandoning the order, and the enthusiasm of the support they offered varied. Drax, Hattori, and Kaylee, who all knew Barriss, were especially sympathetic, and admitted to having their own doubts about the Council's management of the situation.

Her scant contacts in the Senate had all written out polite refusals, citing very reasonable concerns surrounding the political ramifications of hiring an underage ex-Jedi who had only been cleared of terrorism charges earlier that week. It was at this point that Ahsoka began to have doubts about her ability to land the police job Asajj had suggested. Still, Chuchi and Amidala were especially nice, offering to recommend her for political asylum on their home planets and to help her find a job when she did come of age.

Ahsoka saved the letter from Anakin for last. She cared the most about what he thought of her, more than any soldier, Jedi, or politician. When she opened the letter, she realized she needn't have worried. It read:

_Snips,_

_Thank you for being my Padawan these past two years. I'm so proud of you. You're strong, kind, and you stand by what you believe in. Know that you can always call on me, no matter what._

_I know you probably don't want help from any Jedi right now, but I feel I have to do something to help you out. It has come to my attention (i.e., Admiral Yularen pointed out to me) that because of you were cleared of all charges, your discharge from the GAR was honorable. Since Jedi aren't paid, and you (technically) left the Army as a non-Jedi, they owe you a LOT of back pay. I'm also trying to get you as many combat bonuses as I can. I think it should come out to a few hundred thousand credits, and I really hope you'll accept it. You've earned it a thousand times over._

_By the way, your exit paperwork in the Archives says “resigned instead of returning to Padawan status or accepting a Knighthood” now you've been cleared. The Council may be a bunch of self-serving cowards, but they were at least honest about this one. Obi-Wan and I will keep an eye on them for you._

_That reminds me, Obi-Wan and Master Plo Koon feel terrible about this whole thing. They said they tried to stick up for you in the pre-meetings, but they got shouted down. Since when does the kriffing Jedi High Council devolve into shouting? Anyway, the point is that you have two Jedi Masters in your debt, which could come in handy. They tracked down the contact information for your biological family as a “gesture of goodwill” and insisted I send it to you, so that's attached if you want it._

_Take care of yourself. Keep up your exercises; don't let yourself get too dependent on that shoto. Eat some real food, all that. I'll write more soon._

_Love,_

_Anakin_

He was still trying to look out for her, thank the Force. Hell, he was more than just looking out for her; a few hundred thousand credits would get Ahsoka her own ship, a good ship, with plenty left over. She could go wherever she wanted, do whatever she wished.

Moved by some impulse she didn't quite understand, Ahsoka opened the attachment. It was two small documents, austere Order reports like many she had read before. The first was the original new initiate paperwork: Ahsoka Tano, daughter of Mansha and Roshti Tano, discovered by Knight Plo Koon, et cetera, et cetera. The second was a simple change of address; apparently her parents had moved out of the city and into the suburbs. A comment at the bottom said, “We wanted more room for the kids.” She had siblings?

Perhaps this bore some investigation.


	6. Steps Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We take a look at happenings inside the Jedi Temple. Meanwhile, Ahsoka gets a job.

**Steps Forward**

A/N: I've often thought it rather ridiculous that canon-Ahsoka has no friends to speak of in the Order beyond Barriss, so I made her some. Let's see how the beta versions are doing.

 

* * *

Hattori Ashkanti read the letter again, sat back in his chair, and swore for the umpteenth time. He looked up from his spot in the spacious Temple workshop off of the northwest auxiliary hangar where he, his twin sister Kaylee, and their friend Drax Bolton were ostensibly maintaining their starfighters. It was a spacious room filled with tables and pegboards covered in tools that flowed seamlessly into a machine shop. One wall was devoted to a massive door through which an entire starfighter could hypothetically be brought, although it wouldn't be a comfortable fit.

Not a lot of work was actually happening. Drax was pacing back and forth, his fur rippling with emotions that seemed too big for a meter-high Chadra-Fan. Kaylee had started deburring a replacement bracket half an hour ago, and hadn't stopped. The thing was almost paper-thin, and her shoes were covered in metal dust. Hattori had been sitting in a stupor for the past half an hour, alternating between re-reading Ahsoka's letter and just staring at the wall.

Eventually, the former bracket gave way, and Kaylee's file hit the table clamp she had been using to hold the bracket with a dull clank.

“This makes half of us, doesn't it?” she said quietly.

No one replied openly, but the their thoughts on the matter were very clear through the Force: Half of their old circle of friends was gone, thanks to the war. Sianya, the aspiring diplomat, had fallen in battle. The quiet Miraliran girl who taught them CPR had set off a bomb in a hangar full of civilian mechanics. Ahsoka, the one who believed in the Order more than anyone else, had thrown up her hands and left.

Drax reached the end of the room, turned around, and started back the other way. When he passed Hattori, he spoke.

“It's not just us. Remember Master Fisto's apprentice?”

Hattori tentatively nodded. “He passed his trials a few years ago, didn’t he?”

Drax stopped and turned to face the twins. “And was then promptly killed by Grievous, yes.”

“Kriff.” The word was as much a sigh as it was an expletive.

“Then there's however many Ventress killed before she disappeared,” Drax continued. “Not to mention the ones who just die in the field.”

Kaylee began to unscrew the clamp that had held her attempt at a new s-foil motivator mount. She removed the once-bracket and regarded it reproachfully before pointing out, “Don't forget Krell. He went farther off the deep end than Barriss ever did.”

“This isn't what the Jedi are supposed to be doing,” agreed her brother. “This isn't why we started.”

Kaylee tossed the chunk of scrap into the recycler and nodded. “This doesn't even feel like the war we started fighting.”

“Not that the war we started was all that reasonable to begin with,” finished Hattori. He set aside his datapad and hunched forwards, riled. “The fact of the matter is that the Separatist movement’s core concerns about corruption in the existing bureaucracy are totally legitimate. Set aside the more radical elements that hijacked the movement into – screw it, set aside the work of Dooku and his cronies – and you have a legitimate government.” The words came out in a torrent, as though they had been trapped in his skull for a while. “Also, this war doesn’t make all that much sense for the individual member worlds of either group! Not that we have the time to remember that. Do you realize this is the first time the three of us have all been on Coruscant at the same time in a year? And that’s only because one of our friends went quaeshirk crazy!”

Drax leaned towards Kaylee. “Quaeshirk?”

“Rodian obscenity, I think.”

“Ah.” Drax paused before asking, “Okay, what do we do about it?” crossing his arms and leaning back against a workbench. 

T here was a brief pause before Hattori spoke again. “I don’t know where to start,” he admitted. The room grew quiet again  as the apprentices tried to think of something. 

Kaylee picked up a piece of stock and looked at it  in a manner more absent than appraising.  “The way I see it, we have three options,”  she said, sussing them out in her head.  “ One: we keep going more or less as before and try to pull the ideals of the Order to the front lines. Two: overt protest. We go to the media, we talk to senators and stuff, generally make it clear that the past few years do not represent what we’re about. Three: we resign in protest, and join Ahsoka in exile. Could be a powerful gesture.”

“The trouble is,” Kaylee continued, “we’ve basically been doing option one for the past few years with no effect, but the other options are sure to get us in trouble.”

Drax grunted. “ We get shot at most mornings. I think we can take a little discourse from option two.”

“Windu-glares.” Hattori’s response was brief, yet chilling. Kaylee shivered.

“Justice tho,” was Drax’s casual reply. He picked up a piece of scrap and tossed it into the air where it spun and caught the light before coming down to his hand.

Hattori gave in.  “ Fine.”

“Wait, are we really doing this?” asked Kaylee. She set the stock down on a workbench and reached for a measuring tape to mark out a second try at her bracket with, trying to focus on something concrete. Drax shrugged and bluntly inquired as to if she could come up with a good reason why they shouldn't. 

Hattori nodded. “ I’m game if you are, sis.” Kaylee looked up at the ceiling as the weight of what they might be about to do settled onto her shoulders. 

“Fuck it. Let’s pick a newspaper.”

 

* * *

Ahsoka lay back on the couch, absently swiping through holos of ships for sale, trying to find one that suited her needs. She needed a small ship that would comfortably hold her, some cargo and a few guests, was fast and armed enough to see her out of a scrape, and maintained some vague semblance of professionalism. Elegant in its simplicity, a lightly used YT-1300fp caught her eye. Oddly for that class of ship, it didn’t seem to be modified much beyond its base specifications, not even adding the auxiliary mandibles flogged by the original manufacturer. She added it to her list, then stood.

While Ahsoka had no doubt that Anakin would come through with his promise, she still needed a source of income in the meantime, and the Coruscant Security Force gig Asajj had mentioned seemed promising. Ahsoka wasn’t sure how comfortable they would be with the idea of working with someone who had officially been a wanted terrorist until a few days ago, but it was worth a shot. She grabbed her things and headed for the door.

“I’m headed out, Asajj!” she shouted over her shoulder into the apartment.

Her temporary roommate’s head popped out from her room. “Don’t do anything I would do.”

Ahsoka chuckled, said “Got it!” and left the apartment.

Twenty minutes later, she stood in front of the CSF district headquarters being glared at by one of the cops stationed at the entrance. Steeling herself, she walked in and found her way to recruitment. The sleepy-eyed officer at the receptionist’s desk must have jumped half a meter when he recognized Ahsoka, and he actually squeaked when she handed him a copy of her resume and asked if they were still looking for a Force-user.

Recovering his composure, the officer stood and said, “Let me, ah, go and speak with my captain,” before beating a hasty retreat through a door at the back of the atrium. Ahsoka smiled and shook her head, sinking into one of the little chairs that lined the waiting room, listening carefully to the sounds that drifted in from the room beyond.

Voices hushed to the point that a human would not be able to overhear sounded through the wall, audible to her sensitive montrals. Ahsoka didn’t try to listen in, but as they began to rise, she stopped actively ignoring them.“The Ahsoka Tano? The one with the APB?”

“It’s been retracted. She was framed or something. … I heard she wasn’t even going to get an internal Jedi investigation.”

“If this department threw one of our own under the bus like that...”

“Do we want her?”

“Want or need, lieutenant?”

“Either.”

“The fact of the matter is that Organized Crime and Narcotics have been begging for one for months.”

“… heard good things about her work in the GAR…”

“Give her an interview. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Meteor strike?”

“Goddammit, Lewis.”

There was a rustling of cloth as the police inside returned to their desks, and the promised captain, a short Bith with large motorized spectacles that whirred to bring her into focus, emerged. He beckoned and said, “Please follow me, Ms. Tano,” in a polite, level tone.

Ahsoka followed him through a large room full of desks and police officers who were all staring a little too intently at their work into a private office. The Bith introduced himself as Captain Ur’chip, and they set about an interview.

“You’re qualified for an awful lot of jobs in an awful lot of places, Ms. Tano. Why do you want to work for the Coruscant Security Force?”

Ahsoka considered this for a moment. When she finally spoke, it was oddly reflective. “With all due respect, Captain, I didn’t see that many options. I mean, I guess I have the managerial experience to go work for some big megacorp. Or maybe be a mechanic. Come to think of it, I’m technically a licensed EMT, which wouldn’t be too bad. But those aren’t jobs for a Jedi.” She breathed long and slow, drinking in the artificially purified air. “Jedi find things that are wrong and make them right. We protect the innocent, liberate the oppressed, heal the sick, and give comfort to those who are beyond any other help.” The speech poured out smoothly, a simple alteration of the words she had lived by since she was very small.

“I have left my Order behind, but I will never abandon the cause of justice for the people of the Republic. The Order has forgotten its mission to protect the common being, but I won’t. I can’t. You seem to have a similar interest.”

The interview dragged on for another hour after that, but when Ahsoka left the building, she went by way of the quartermaster’s office. Every policewoman needs a uniform, after all.


	7. A Rough Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahsoka starts her new job as a cop, but not everything turns out as planned.

**A Rough Start**

The next day, Ahsoka awoke with newfound purpose. She’d been tentatively assigned to an organized crime task force, although Captain Ur’chip had told her to expect being loaned to other sections as often as she did work with her own.

“Before the war, we enjoyed the luxury of near-constant Jedi involvement by virtue of being on Coruscant. Now, no Jedi has had the time to help out law enforcement for years, even though the CSF polices a population larger than some sectors,” he’d said, irritation showing through the wall of fusty professionalism she’d observed in the first half of her interview. “This shortage will inevitably result in some … competition for your assistance.”

An hour after she awoke, Ahsoka hurried into the station with half a bagel gripped between her teeth. She wasn’t late _per se_ , but she wasn’t the fifteen minutes early for a new assignment that had been drilled into her at the temple, and that made her more uncomfortable than she would like to admit. Perhaps Barriss’s anal-retentiveness had rubbed off on her before the thing she was trying ever so hard not to think about happened.

“Excuthe me?” Ahsoka asked around her bagel, casting about for anyone who didn’t seem to be in a terrible rush. This place felt as busy as the bridge of the _Resolute_. Eventually, she settled on an only slightly frazzled-looking junior detective who had a mere two empty cups of caf on her desk. “Do you know where I can find -” she glanced down at her assignment papers, unsure of her new CO’s name, “- Inspector Odanne Elsarr?”  The detective didn’t bother speaking, instead simply pointing to a glass-paneled door at the back of the room with closed blinds.

I nspector Odanne Elsarr turned out to be a tall, thin Pantoran woman. Her face was deeply lined, but her piercing slate-gray eyes  examined Ahsoka with an intensity that belied her years. 

Ahsoka decided to go with the direct approach. “Hi!” she said, shrugging off the Inspector’s glare. “I’m Ahsoka Tano, the new specialist?”

“Take a seat.” Elsarr’s voice was as smooth and detached as the manila folders that littered her desk, but Ahsoka had rode with the five-oh-first long enough to know an order when she heard one.

“Here’s the deal,” Elsarr began, opening a drawer in her desk and withdrawing an attache case. “We captured these ledgers in this morning’s raid on the Moonlight Triad, but they’re encrypted. I need to be able to dump printouts on the DA’s desk at some point in the next” - she glanced at her chrono - “twenty-two and a half hours or Der Kleiner walks.”

Ahsoka paused, trying to find the best way to tell her new boss that cryptoanalysis was not a standard course at the Jedi Temple. She decided to be blunt. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to do that.”

“Well what kind of cryptographer are you, then?”

“Um, I’m ex-Jedi.”

Inspector Elsarr massaged her temples, rose, and stuck her head out the door. “JENKINS!” she bellowed, “WHERE IS MY CRYPTOGRAPHER?”

A distant voice replied, “Fifteen minutes out, Inspector.”

“Hmpf.” Elsarr flopped back into her swivel chair, slid the attache case back into its drawer, and picked up one of the folders on her desk. Opening it, she continued, “Junior Detective Ahsoka Tano.”

“That’s me!”

“I thought you’d be older.” It did not appear to be a compliment. “Well, welcome to the force, kid.”

Ahsoka grinned. “Boss, I’ve been studying it for years.”

The other woman’s lip twitched, but she pretended not to notice the pun, instead forging onward through a speech she’d clearly run through many times. “Here’s your orientation packet; your partner’s desk is six down from there; he’ll show you the ropes. Good luck, run along.”

Ahsoka’s partner turned out to be a 1.9 meter hulk of gray scales named Vangar Waz who appreciated her puns. He was short for a Trandoshan, but still towered far above the tips of her montrals. As he began to explain how log in to the CSF mainframe, he commented, “I thought you’d be taller.”

Ahsoka thought back to the last conversation she’d had with a Tandoshan, and decided not to mention it. “Master Yoda always said, ‘Size matters not.’”

“I take it he didn’t have much luck in the dating scene, eh?”

Ahsoka snorted. She could work with these folks.

* * *

Things moved swiftly after that. It didn’t take long for Vagnar, and then the inspector, to notice Ahsoka had a knack for reading people, and she quickly earned the rank she had been given as the team continued to investigate the Moonlight Triad’s activities in the undercity.

The trouble began on her first raid, a routine seizure of a stash of death sticks. Inspector Elsarr, probably trying to evaluate Ahsoka’s skills, sent her in first. It was just a small warehouse, more of a storage unit really, and she could only sense one person inside, a skittish humanoid. Still, it was dark when she entered the room, so when a brilliant scarlet blaster bolt flared towards her, instinct took over and Ahsoka batted it directly back to its source. The blaster exploded, briefly illuminating a room filled with nondescript crates and a terrified human youth. There was a boyish scream, a thud, and then silence.

When Vagnar followed in with his stun blaster and a floodlight, Ahsoka saw the guard for what he was: a boy in his mid-teens with short, curly hair. His skin was marred by the occasional pimple, but those small blemishes paled in comparison to the long gouges left by the exploding blaster. The child’s right hand and forearm would need reconstructive surgery, and the rest would need a long dip in bacta, a resource that had grown ever scarcer as the war continued. Ahsoka thanked the Force he was still breathing.

Jenkins patted her shoulder. “You did good, kid.”

Ahsoka didn’t say anything for the better part of a minute. When the words did come, they were querulous and faint.

“I’m used to droids.” Even as she said them, she knew they were wrong. She’d fought and killed sentients before on half a dozen worlds, but they had always been adult soldiers, trained and armed and cognizant of the risk they were undertaking.

“He’s going to be just fine,” offered Vagnar, his words falling on empty ears. The kid couldn't have even finished high school.

Ahsoka slid through the rest of her shift in a stupor, mechanically outlining her report back at the station. According to the student id in his wallet, the boy was named Halin Pastorus. He was fourteen.

 

* * *

 

When Ahsoka got home, Asajj was slumped on the couch, watching some holodrama or other, but she looked up when she sensed Ahsoka’s distress. “What are you beating yourself up for this time?” She inquired without preamble.

Ahsoka was silent. Asajj paused the holodrama.

“Out with it, kid. I don’t have all day.” It so happened that today was Asajj’s day off, but that was beside the point. It had been a very good holodrama.

“I hurt someone today.” Ahsoka had expected the words to hang in the air, full of shame and self-condemnation, but Asajj responded immediately.

“We’ve both hurt an awful lot of people. Why is this one different?”

This time, Ahsoka didn’t bother with the line about the droids. “It was an innocent. Jedi aren’t supposed to do that.”

“How do you know?"

“He was a kid, Asajj. Fourteen years old.”

The ex-Sith shrugged. “You were younger when we first fought.”

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. “I’m a Jedi. That was different.”

The older woman didn’t let it go. “Was it? Did you know what you were getting into? I didn’t when I first left the Temple.”

That got Ahsoka’s attention. “You were a Jedi?”

“Not open for discussion.” Asajj’s tone brooked no argument, but Ahsoka filed that tidbit away for later inspection. “Answer the question, Tano.”

The surnames were out. Ahsoka dropped the subject. “I guess I didn’t.”

“Exactly. No one knows what war is really like until they’re stuck in it. Now, what was this kid doing when you hurt him?”

“Um, shooting at me to protect a massive cache of death sticks belonging to his bosses in the Moonlight Triad?”

Asajj let herself fall forward onto a cushion.

“It wasn’t like that! There was only one of him, and I’m a Jedi! I should have been able to take him down without hurting him!”

Asajj flopped back up and massaged her temples in exasperation. “Nobody’s perfect, Ahsoka.”

“But I could have done better!”

“Did you kill him?”

“No!” Ahsoka shuddered at the very thought

“Then you could’ve done a lot worse.”

Asajj had her there. “I guess.”

“I take it he’s in the medcenter?”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine, but that’s beside the point!”

“Which is?”

Ahsoka paused. “I hurt someone when I didn’t have to. That isn’t the Jedi way.”

Asajj met her eyes. “A lot of Jedi have been doing a lot of un-Jedi way things lately. Frankly, that you even noticed puts you in pretty good standing, if what you told me about the goings-on in the Order lately is true.”

“But-”

Asajj continued over Ahsoka’s protest. “You have to accept that you’re not perfect, or you’ll drive yourself insane.” Ahsoka didn’t have anything to say to that. “Look, if you want to make it better, you can go to the medcenter tomorrow and see how he’s doing, okay? Maybe try to help him get out of the triad or something.”

Ahsoka gave up. “Okay.”

Relieved, Asajj resumed her original position and resumed her holodrama. “Now, hush. I have important things to be doing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to acknowledge that Ahsoka and Asajj's conversation at the end of the chapter was heavily influenced by Barriss and and Revan's dynamic in [_The Erosion of the Spirit_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6688336)


End file.
